- cifra
Oh, she's a dying art,
She's a weathered leaf
At times of thunderstorm.
And he's a prodigal son,
With his back to the wall,
He's an atomic bomb
And she said, she said, she says:
I remember you,
Your switch-blade eyes.
The coolest thing to do,
Was to let you come inside.
Hands behind my back.
My tongue tied.
Bare with me now.
Lets go for a ride.
She's a dying art,
She's a weathered leaf
At times of thunderstorm.
And I'm the prodigal one,
With my back to the wall.
I'm the atomic bomb
And she said, she said, she says:
I remember you,
Your switch-blade eyes.
The coolest thing to do,
Was to let you come inside.
Hands behind my back.
My tongue tied.
Bare with me now.
Lets go for a ride.
I remember you,
Your switch-blade eyes.
The coolest thing to do,
Was to let you come inside.
Hands behind my back.
My tongue tied.
Bare with me now.
Lets go for a ride.
For a ride.
For a ride.
